


the space in my bed

by xancredible



Series: Yngvi & Fritjof [2]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Original Work
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dwarves, First Time, Fluff, Getting Together, Hair-pulling, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Pre-Getting Back Together, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 13:01:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29260884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xancredible/pseuds/xancredible
Summary: A long time ago, Yngvi took a chance and was rewarded. Over a decade later, he's still not ready to forgive the betrayal that followed after, but he's getting closer every day.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Series: Yngvi & Fritjof [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2148759
Comments: 8
Kudos: 4
Collections: Tales of Voskye (Dungeons and Dragons Homebrew Campaign)





	the space in my bed

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from "No Light, No Light" by Florence + The Machine. (I figured I'd stick with the theme.)
> 
> This is another half-prequel, half-missing scene from our homebrew DnD sessions. You can read other stories about the characters in this universe in [the collection](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Voskye) our DM created.
> 
> I sprinkled some dwarvish endearments in here, courtesy of [this work](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4863026) that's been collecting words from Khuzdul, the dwarf language created by Tolkien. There are footnotes in the text that will take you to a translation at the bottom of the story (and then back up, because I'm an html wizard like that).

* * *

**Then**

It’s a chilly night, and Yngvi’s glad for the shelter the shallow cave at the edge of the paddock provides. There’s enough coal stacked at the back to keep the fire going, and enough thick animal furs to keep the ground from chilling him through despite it.

No one in their right mind would call it cosy, but it’s better than sitting outside where the wind will chafe your cheekbones, and the rain would eventually soak through even the thickest of leather.

He’s roasting a chunk of goat’s meat over the fire, and his mother put a loaf of fresh bread in his sack when he left earlier today. There’s goat’s cheese, too, and apples. The food is meant to last him two days, but his parents don’t know he’ll be sharing it with someone else.

Then again, that someone else is going to bring his own share of rations, and Yngvi’s certain he’ll get to share that in return.

He and Fritjof have ended up on pastures close to each other for a while now, and Yngvi has come to look forward to shepherding much more ever since he met Fritjof.

Fritjof is so different from what Yngvi had thought anyone from the Mountain Hall would be. Yngvi’s parents don’t speak much about the other clan, and he wasn’t born until the war was over and their clans long-since divided.

Whenever Yngvi had thought about the Mountain Hall, he’d always imagined them to be arrogant. Condescending people who would look down on the Forge Keepers, and insult not just his clan but his family for being traitorous bastards to the noble race of Mountain Dwarves.

Fritjof was nothing like that. Yngvi hasn’t met anyone less likely to go looking for a fight. Where Yngvi always wishes to learn more about combat and great wars, and to see the world, Fritjof works hard for the life he has here, and is utterly devoted to his family’s wellbeing.

Yngvi admires that loyalty. And that dedication. And the way Fritjof speaks so openly about himself and his family and his entire clan, as if the idea that Yngvi might tell his own clan the secrets of the Mountain Hall had never even occurred to Fritjof. And maybe it truly hadn’t.

Yngvi likes Fritjof’s voice, and how he can make Yngvi feel like they’re the only two people left up here in the mountains. Once, Fritjof sang, just to pass the time, and Yngvi wouldn’t have wanted him to stop for anything in the world. It wouldn’t have mattered if his entire herd of livestock had walked off a treacherous mountain cliff, Yngvi would’ve stayed put, unwilling to miss a single note.

In truth, there’s nothing Yngvi doesn’t admire about Fritjof. From the thick, black hair on his head that’s grown a great deal longer since they first met many months ago, over the slender line of his strong, wiry body, down to the soles of his feet.

And Fritjof, for his part, seems to enjoy Yngvi’s company just as much. If he didn’t, Yngvi is sure he could’ve found different places to take his herd. Yngvi has been shepherding his family’s livestock for a long time, and he’d never run into anyone from the Mountain Hall until he met Fritjof last spring.

It has to mean something that Fritjof continues to seek him out, doesn’t it?

Yngvi truly hopes it does.

Neither of them have spoken about courtships or any other dalliances, but Fritjof had mentioned a crush he once harboured for one of the blacksmiths in his village, when he was younger. “He had hair like yours,” Fritjof had told Yngvi in the summer, and even though it might have meant nothing, it had given Yngvi hope.

As far as Yngvi is concerned, he can’t imagine that Fritjof doesn’t already know how much he enjoys Fritjof’s company. Yngvi has never learned the art of subtlety, and he doesn’t intend to start now—or ever.

Speaking of which— 

Just as Yngvi deems the meat done, Fritjof appears at the mouth of the cave, a warm smile on his face, and even warmer words of greetings on his lips.

“Yngvi, how glad I am to see you. It’s been too long.”

“A week is hardly much time,” Yngvi replies even though he agrees. Even just a day is too long, in his opinion.

Fritjof’s smile never falters. He knows Yngvi is teasing him, and Yngvi’s glad for it. He wouldn’t want to make Fritjof feel unwelcome, or worse, unmissed.

“Nevertheless,” Fritjof says, his tone just as light and teasing, “here we are again, and I see, and indeed smell, that dinner’s already prepared.”

“It’s just like you to show up when food’s ready,” Yngvi returns even as he cuts slices of meat from the bone and divides them into two portions. If anyone at the house noticed that he’s been taking two plates whenever he goes out to the paddocks for the night, they haven’t mentioned it.

“I do have impeccable timing,” Fritjof shoots back. He sets his sack down where Yngvi left his own, and comes to sit next to Yngvi instead of on the other side of the fire—as would be custom for friends.

Yngvi bumps his shoulder against Fritjof’s, and hands him the plate with the nicer piece of meat. Fritjof must notice because he hesitates just a moment too long before he takes the plate with words of thanks.

They eat, and drink watered-down ale so as not to get too drunk for duty, but with enough flavour left to complement their dinner. They talk, too, telling each other about the time spent apart.

Yngvi learns ever more about Fritjof’s brother Frodi, who has, as of late, taken to trying to persuade Fritjof to begin courting, even though Fritjof, just like Yngvi, hasn’t even broken out of the double digits yet. Needless to say, Yngvi has begun to dislike Frodi a great deal recently.

When it’s his turn, Yngvi tells Fritjof about the pranks his little siblings have been playing on their oldest brother Ingolfr, and how Yngvi covered for them so they wouldn’t get into trouble with their mother. It makes Fritjof laugh, and that’s another thing Yngvi will never tire of hearing.

The food has grown cold before they’re finished eating, but neither of them minds, and together they pack up the leftovers and secure them against wild animals that might come looking for food.

After dinner, they check on their herds separately because, as long as they’re in each other’s company, they—or at least Yngvi—cannot always be trusted to keep an open eye and ear for things that might lurk in the dark, or animals that might have gone missing.

It takes less than an hour for them to return to the cave. Fritjof’s already there when Yngvi arrives. One of Yngvi’s sheep had gone missing and it had taken him a while to find it hidden behind a rock with just the light of his torch to light the dark.

Yngvi’s heart starts beating faster at the sight before him. Fritjof has added more furs to their camp, and rekindled the fire that had burned low while they’d been gone. The mouth of the cave is wide enough for them to see outside, if it weren’t so dark. As luck would have it, though, the wind doesn’t catch on it and so the inside, shallow as it may be, has grown warm enough for Fritjof to discard not only the thick coat he wore outside, but the lighter jacket and the leather vest he wore underneath are gone as well.

It would be a lie to say that Yngvi has never seen Fritjof this undressed before. Some of the summer days get very warm, even this far up in the mountains, and there had been a time or two when neither of them had worn more than trousers and shirtsleeves, sleeves rolled up just far enough so that Yngvi can see some of the dark, bold shapes of the tattoo on Fritjof’s arms.

To see this look now though, in this setting, with the soft lighting of the fire and a space that, even before, had seemed almost… intimate? It’s something else entirely.

Not to mention that Fritjof has made himself comfortable and is currently lying on his side to face the fire, head propped up on one hand, and a cup in the other.

It’s a lot for Yngvi to take in all at once, and so he busies himself with taking off his own coat and finding a dry, safe spot to put it. He’s not as warmed through quite yet, but he takes off his light jacket and vest and drapes them over the coat, leaving him in shirtsleeves, too.

When Yngvi looks at Fritjof again, it’s to find him watching.

“Is there any of the ale left? I had to chase a sheep, and I could use a drink,” Yngvi asks, hoping that the low light and his beard will conceal the majority of his blush.

“I think we emptied the skin, but there’s some left in my cup, if you don’t mind sharing,” Fritjof says.

“We’ve already shared so much,” Yngvi goes ahead, intent on pretending confidence until he either believes it or doesn’t feel so out of his depth anymore. “What’s a cup between friends?”

Fritjof smiles in return and pats the space in front of him. “Come here, then. I’ve no desire to move any more than I have to until it’s time for another patrol.”

That’s a sentiment Yngvi wholly shares, and it puts him close to Fritjof again, which both excites and scares him.

Yngvi is by no means untouched, and he’s sure neither is Fritjof. However, there is a newness to all of this. For all that Yngvi has got experience, he has never cared about any of his partners as much as he does Fritjof.

Sex has always been for fun, for release, or simply for something to do, and while all of those times were enjoyable and have left him feeling fond of his partners, Yngvi feels nervous because he’s already fond of Fritjof.

He certainly has never been shy about making the first step in the past. But then, he had never felt like he had anything to lose if he did. At worse, he’d be rejected, and no hard feelings would come of it. He doesn’t know how the Mountain Hall views such things, but the Forge Keepers are open about their sexual needs, and encourage anyone who is of age to explore themselves and other people. So long as consent is given, two adults can have fun without the need for marital bonds, and no-one is thought of poorly for propositioning another unmarried adult.

Therefore, he isn’t afraid of the idea of sex, not even of sex with Fritjof. He is scared that he misinterpreted Fritjof’s intentions, and that, this time, if he’s turned down, there won’t be a chance to go on like before. Even if Fritjof didn’t harbour any hard feelings, Yngvi isn’t sure that he could pretend not to feel hurt by the rejection.

For the first time, there are stakes, and Yngvi doesn’t enjoy feeling this off-balance in the least.

Yngvi lies down on his side, mirroring Fritjof’s pose almost exactly. Once he’s settled in, Fritjof hands over the cup and Yngvi takes a few deep gulps. There’s still some left, and he has no desire to be so rude as to finish all of it, so he returns the cup and watches Fritjof drink the rest.

It’s when Fritjof has put the cup away, and licks his lips to chase the last traces of ale, that Yngvi decides he’s bold enough after all.

He reaches for Fritjof’s wrist, and gently tugs on it. Fritjof leans in without the need for Yngvi to voice a question or thought or anything, and so Yngvi only has to move forward and meet Fritjof in the middle.

Fritjof’s lips are chapped, much like Yngvi’s, and there’s no reservation in Fritjof’s kiss. On the contrary, there’s an urgency in the way Fritjof moves closer so their bodies are touching that makes Yngvi wonder for how long Fritjof has wanted this as much as Yngvi has.

He might ask later, or maybe he’ll forget.

Maybe it’s irrelevant.

What’s important is that they’re here, now, finally coming together like this, all insecurities forgotten.

Slowly, Yngvi slides his hand from Fritjof’s wrist up his arm and over his shoulder until he can bury it in Fritjof’s hair. It’s as thick as any dwarf’s, and silky smooth. Yngvi has wanted to touch it since he first saw Fritjof—and if he’s honest, he’s wanted to do more than just touch it. 

He tugs on Fritjof’s hair, only gently to test the boundaries. Yngvi’s had sex with enough people to know that there’s two kinds of dwarves: Those who like having their hair pulled, and those who don’t even want you touching it, either during sex or at any time at all.

As if to prove to Yngvi that they truly are perfect for each other, Fritjof nips on Yngvi’s lower lip and murmurs “Harder,” so Yngvi tugs again, this time a little more sharply. 

Fritjof moans, and digs his fingers into Yngvi’s chest, and Yngvi smiles into the kiss and loosens his grip on Fritjof’s hair. For now, he’s content to lie here and just kiss Fritjof for a while.

He loses himself in the feeling of Fritjof’s mouth against his, Fritjof’s hand on his chest, sliding into the gap where his shirt laces are coming undone bit by bit.

Unfortunately, after a while, his right arm gets tired from holding him up for too long, and Yngvi has to break the kiss to let himself drop down onto his back.

Fortunately, Fritjof seems to understand what the problem is and rather than retreat, he makes a show of taking off his shirt and trousers while still lying on the floor.

There is nothing in the world that could stop Yngvi from watching the way Fritjof’s hips rise up when he pushes his trousers down his legs. The tattoos on his arms hold intricate patterns of sharp angles and clean lines, not very unlike the tattoo on Yngvi’s back, and Yngvi wants to study them for hours. Fritjof’s dark chest hair forms a diamond pattern and trails down his stomach to his thick, half-hard cock. His skin is beautifully tan and the fire makes it look golden in the darkness of the cave, unlike Fritjof’s own, ghostly pale skin.

“Well?” Fritjof prompts, and Yngvi is regretful to have to tear his eyes away from Fritjof’s body to work on his own clothes. He ends up almost tearing off the laces of his trousers in his haste to undo them.

“Not a word,” he warns, not daring to look at Fritjof’s face, who’s doubtlessly grinning mischievously, if not outright laughing, at Yngvi’s clumsiness.

He only looks at Fritjof once he’s just as naked, and is gratified to see that the smirk has disappeared and Fritjof’s biting his lip while his eyes roam over Yngvi’s body.

Yngvi’s perfectly aware of how he looks. His muscles are bulging, his beard is thick and well-groomed, and ginger hair not only covers his chest but his stomach, too. On top of that, he’s just plain broader than Fritjof and it’s gratifying to see how much Fritjof appears to appreciate that.

While Fritjof’s busy admiring Yngvi, Yngvi reaches for Fritjof’s wrist again, and tugs him closer until he’s half on top of Yngvi. Like this, Yngvi can feel Fritjof getting harder when he puts his hand back in Fritjof’s hair to grab it tightly as he drags him back into a kiss.

The other advantage of this position is that it doesn’t take Fritjof long to move from kissing Yngvi’s mouth to his chest, down over his stomach, until he’s got his mouth at the base of Yngvi’s cock.

Yngvi tightens his fist in Fritjof’s hair, and Fritjof gasps, his breath hot on Yngvi.

“You want to suck me, khajimel?”[1] Yngvi asks, surprised at how steady his voice sounds.

Fritjof replies by putting his lips on him to kiss the soft skin of Yngvi’s cock.

“I see,” Yngvi says, unable to stop himself from smiling. He lets Fritjof tease for a little longer, gently running his fingers through Fritjof’s hair. Eventually though, he pulls on it tightly, and guides Fritjof up until he’s kissing the tip.

Fritjof, to his credit, lets himself direct with ease, and takes Yngvi into his mouth.

At first, Yngvi gives Fritjof time to adjust to him. His cock’s not as long as other dwarves’, but it’s thick, and Fritjof’s mouth is stretched wide around him. The sight alone could be enough to undo Yngvi if he didn’t have better control over himself.

Once Yngvi trusts that Fritjof can handle this, he pulls on his hair again, dragging him back up until only the head’s still in Fritjof’s mouth, just to push him back down until Fritjof’s nose is buried in the hair at the base of Yngvi’s cock once more. Fritjof doesn’t stop looking at Yngvi once through any of this, which only serves to arouse Yngvi more.

It doesn’t take long for them to set a good rhythm like that, and Yngvi releases his tight grip on Fritjof’s hair then. 

“Beautiful, khajimel. None of my dreams could do you justice,” Yngvi says, and watches as Fritjof’s eyes close in pleasure.

“You like it when I praise you. I will do it every day just to see you so happy,” Yngvi has to—has to—promise in that moment, and the way Fritjof looks at him then, eyes burning with longing, makes Yngvi’s heart almost beat out of his chest.

He has no idea how to deal with the way he feels right now, and all he can think to do is to bury his other hand in Fritjof’s hair as well, scratching at his scalp with blunt fingernails before he guides him back into the rhythm that has Yngvi on the brink of coming too fast and not soon enough at the same time.

His hips come off the floor as he falls over the edge, Fritjof’s mouth still on him, Fritjof’s hair gliding silkily through his fingers.

It takes him… he doesn’t know how long until his breath has slowed enough and his eyes open again, but when he can look, he sees Fritjof mouthing at the inside of his thigh, eyes once more on Yngvi’s face.

“Khajimel,” Yngvi says, and pulls on a strand of Fritjof’s hair. Fritjof follows easily and their mouths meet again, the taste of Yngvi’s release sharp on Fritjof’s tongue.

Yngvi lets his hands wander now, over Fritjof’s chest to his hips and down to his ass. Fritjof makes a soft, pleading sound that Yngvi kisses away immediately.

“Not tonight,” Yngvi says. “Unless you brought oil.”

Fritjof shakes his head. “I didn’t dare to presume it would happen tonight,” he admits, his voice sinfully hoarse.

“Neither did I,” Yngvi says. “Besides, we don’t need it. I have plenty of ideas for what I can do with you instead.”

“Is that true?” Fritjof asks, and finally, there’s the cheeky attitude that Yngvi knows and love from him.

“Just you wait and see, khajimel,” Yngvi says, and hooks a hand in the hollow of Fritjof’s knee, pulling his leg up until he’s straddling the thick muscle of Yngvi’s thigh, his cock flush against it.

Yngvi returns to squeezing Fritjof’s ass with both hands, and then rocks him forward on his thigh. Fritjof, clever as he is, catches on quickly, and braces himself against Yngvi’s chest as he starts moving on his own, his cock dragging over Yngvi’s skin.

“That’s it,” Yngvi encourages. “Take what you need from me.”

“Fuck, Yngvi,” Fritjof groans, his eyes still not leaving Yngvi’s for even just a second, and it only takes moments until Fritjof gasps and spills over Yngvi’s thigh.

Yngvi leans up just as he pulls Fritjof down to kiss him again.

And even though the position they’re in will soon become uncomfortable, and one of them will have to get up to get more wood for the fire from the pile at the back of the cave, no matter what’s going to happen in the future, just for now, Yngvi knows with absolute certainty, that nothing will ever feel as blissful and right as what he and Fritjof have just started with each other.

* * *

**Now**

It’s been a long day, only made longer by Fritjof’s new friends deciding that the middle of the night after a taxing journey was the right time to take drugs and go skinny-dipping in a well of healing.

Fritjof and Yngvi are the last ones to climb out of the well and go back into the palace. By the time they’ve found their clothes and redressed, all of the rooms except for one have been taken.

“I suppose one of the couches in the lounge will do,” Fritjof says.

“I’m sure you remember how enormous the beds in this place are. We can share for the night,” Yngvi says. If Fritjof hadn’t been looking directly at him when he did, Fritjof might think that he’s hallucinating for surely that’s too generous an offer to be real.

Sure, the conversation with Yngvi on the ride home has given him hope for them, but Fritjof knows it’s still a long way until they—he—can earn back what he lost twelve years ago.

Nevertheless, there is hope. After tonight, Fritjof is surer than ever that Yngvi still cares about him.

“Only to sleep,” Yngvi tacks on quickly, and oh, yes, Fritjof knows that look. There might be very little light still left from the candles, but that’s the face Yngvi makes when he’s thinking one thing but saying another altogether.

Because Yngvi might have changed since he left the mountains, but he’s also still the same man he was the day Fritjof got married.

Boisterous, cheeky, confident, but kind and gentle, too—that’s the Yngvi that Fritjof fell in love with through seemingly endless days spent on mountain pastures. That Yngvi is still there, and Fritjof is glad to see it, even as he notices the walls that Yngvi has put up, too.

Now, Yngvi only lets his guard down for the people he travels with because he considers them his family. That much is obvious—at least it is to Fritjof who remembers how many stories used to involve Yngvi’s relatives, but especially his siblings. He must miss them terribly since he left home. All the better that he has so many new ones now.

With Fritjof, however, Yngvi holds back in a way he has never done in the past. After that night in the cave, when they finally allowed themselves to show their feelings for each other, Yngvi hasn’t hidden anything from Fritjof; has allowed Fritjof to see all parts of him, good and bad.

Here, now, there are a lot of blank spaces and Fritjof wants nothing more than to fill them in. But he doesn’t have the privilege of knowing everything about Yngvi anymore, even though he has so many questions.

Where did you go after you left the mountains? Who is that person you see in the mist? How did you come to meet your new family? When did you get more tattoos? If I gave you back your bracelet, would you take it again? And where did you get all these scars?

The scars… Fritjof’s glad that, earlier when they all undressed, Yngvi took his staring for appreciation. It definitely was that too, of course. Yngvi has always been not just handsome but downright impressive. Fritjof used to envy and admire him for his thick body, and it was more than gratifying to finally be able to see Yngvi again in all his might, especially as it’s the first time Fritjof got a proper look at the tattoos on Yngvi’s arms that weren’t there the last time he had the pleasure of seeing Yngvi naked.

When he let his eyes wander, though, and managed to look past the appeal of Yngvi’s biceps and chest hair, he quickly discovered that more than just new tattoos, Yngvi’s body has changed. There’s no limb that doesn’t show at least one scar that’s large enough to be seen in the dim light of the room, and from a few metres away. It’s when Fritjof catches sight of Yngvi’s back that it truly hits him how different Yngvi’s life has become since he left. The beautiful design of the tattoo that Fritjof used to spend so much time tracing with his fingers or his tongue has been torn apart by at least half a dozen scars.

In the room that they’re going to share for the night, Yngvi takes off first his jacket, then his vest. Fritjof thinks he’ll surely stop there, but Yngvi pulls off his shirt as well, and Fritjof gets another look at the marks that time and distance have left on the man he loves.

Fritjof longs to touch Yngvi, to find out the story behind each and every blemish, and to soothe any past hurt with kisses—to make up for the years they were apart. 

He doesn’t have that right now, but, after tonight, he’s beginning to hope that it can be his again some day.

“Are you just going to stand there or are we going to sleep?” Yngvi asks, pulling Fritjof out of his thoughts yet again.

“Sleep,” Fritjof confirms, and undresses as much as Yngvi has before dousing the candles they brought with them, and slipping into bed next to Yngvi.

Yngvi’s back is turned to him, and Fritjof lies on his back, wishing more than anything he could bridge the distance between them.

“I can’t—” Yngvi says into the dark, and then the sheets rustle while Yngvi turns onto his back.

They’re lying side by side, not touching, both of them looking up at the dark ceiling for Fritjof doesn’t know how long, each just listening to the other breathing in the silence of the night.

“You don’t have to explain,” Fritjof says eventually.

“I know,” Yngvi says and there’s impatience in his voice. Fritjof doesn’t know if it’s directed at him or Yngvi himself.

Silence falls again, but Yngvi’s breathing sounds more agitated now, like he’s angry about something.

Fritjof’s got a pretty good idea what he’s angry about.

“You broke your promise, and I can’t forget that,” Yngvi says finally, confirming Fritjof’s guess. Fritjof knows better than to say anything right now.

Another long silence follows, and then, Yngvi huffs in frustration and turns onto his side to face Fritjof. Fritjof doesn’t dare look at him.

“I want to forgive you, and I’m sure I will, in time, but I can’t, not yet. I trust you with my life in battle, but I do not trust you with my heart now. I did before and we both know how that ended.”

Fritjof swallows, his heart racing. He does know. He broke Yngvi’s heart in the worst way possible—by breaking a promise to him. Fritjof has known, almost from the start, how loyal Yngvi is, and how much he values that in another person.

“I think we could be friends for now,” Yngvi says and Fritjof finally turns to look at him.

Yngvi’s eyes are closed, but Fritjof has seen Yngvi asleep often enough to know that he’s wide awake still.

“Please,” Fritjof whispers. “I want to be your friend again.”

“Good,” Yngvi says. “Then we’ll be friends.”

Yngvi’s mouth twitches just enough to tell Fritjof that he’s pleased, then Yngvi turns over onto his other side, leaving Fritjof and his racing heart to settle down into sleep.

Just before Fritjof’s ready to finally drop off, Yngvi says so quietly that Fritjof nearly doesn’t hear him: “I missed you.”

Fritjof’s certain that he wasn’t meant to hear it, and so he doesn’t respond out loud, leaving Yngvi to believe that he got away with his confession.

In the privacy of his own mind, however, he thinks to himself: ‘I’m never letting you go again, amrâlimê.’ [2]

**Author's Note:**

> [1] Khajimel <Khuzdul> _gift of all gifts_
> 
> [2] Amrâlimê <Khuzdul> _beloved_
> 
> * * *
> 
> I would love you for some feedback - could just be a quote of a line you particularly liked, or an impression of how the story made you feel!


End file.
